


If Tomorrow Never Comes

by Darby_Harper



Series: Grace Under Pressure [1]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darby_Harper/pseuds/Darby_Harper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the OTP Prompts on Tumblr: <i>Imagine your OTP at a fancy dinner party.</i></p><p>Richard and Schneider’s evening at an industry party in NYC turns into something more.</p><p>Disclaimer: <i><b>Any similarity between the fictional version of the person portrayed here and the actual person is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person). All rights reserved</b></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	If Tomorrow Never Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff, fluff and more fluff. Don't we need a little fluff in our lives?

“You know, for a guy who cares more about how he looks than any teenage girl I’ve met, you’ve actually managed to get ready with a half an hour to spare! Oh my God, the TV preachers were right; it’s the Apocalypse!”

Richard shot a partially annoyed, partially amused look in the mirror at his lover, seeing the mischievous smile on Schneider’s lips and the sparkle in his eyes that said he was only teasing and not being sarcastic. Richard had been on the receiving end of Schneider’s razor-edged, oh-so-polite brand of sarcasm many times and was thoroughly glad he was just teasing. “I’m ready early because _someone_ , whose name I won’t mention, wouldn’t pry his lovely bottom out of bed when I asked him to three hours ago, and then proceeded to mope around the living room for another hour because they stayed up too late last night watching TV and complained that it’s too fucking early to be awake and dressed,” Richard snort-laughed.

“Fine. Be that way,” Schneider replied, strolling over to the large mirror on the back of the bathroom door of their hotel room where Richard was putting the finishing touches on his outfit for the evening. Clad in head to toe black save for the pale blue-silver shirt under the jacket, he fairly glimmered in the warm lights of the room. He’d chosen to leave the top few buttons of the shirt open to show off a few tantalizing inches of lightly tanned skin which Schneider knew would drive quite a few people to distraction, including himself. Plucking his rings from the top of the dresser nearby and settling them on his fingers, Richard turned to Schneider and said, “Well?”

“I think I can be seen in public with you,” Schneider laughed, brushing a piece of imaginary lint from the front of Richard’s jacket. “You clean up quite well.”

Richard snorted and plucked at a few strands of his spiky hair, making the strands stand up tall and pointy. “And if you don’t get dressed in the next fifteen minutes, I’m going to drag you out of here bare-assed naked.”

“Promises, promises,” Schneider purred, leaning in quickly to catch Richard’s lips in a feather-light kiss. He stepped away before Richard could grab him and plucked his pants from the hanger they were on, slipping them up his long, shapely legs and up over his hips with a naughty smile in his lover’s direction. Like Richard, he’d chosen head to toe black, only his shirt was a deep forest green that brought out his oddly colored greeny-blue eyes. Before he shrugged into his jacket, Schneider carefully pulled his partially-grown out hair into a sleek little tail, and then stood still while Richard wrapped a black ponytail holder around the tail, disguising it in the silky black strands. He could have done the job himself but he rather liked having Richard carefully pulling his hair back and putting it up in a tail. With a quick fluff to his own spiky crown (but not as spiky as Richard’s), Schneider wriggled into his jacket, and struck a model’s pose.

“You’re presentable,” Richard said as deadpan as he could. He couldn’t hold the stern look for long; Schneider put on what had come to be known among the band and their associates as the “Frau Schneider Look,” a look down his aristocratic nose, accompanied by a haughty, disdainful glare from his lovely eyes. Without blinking, he could take on the persona of the repressed, angry and snobbish mother of the cannibal killer Armin Meiwes that he had portrayed in the “Mein Teil” video and had used the “look” many times since then. Sometimes, like at this moment, it had been employed for humor but a few times, an interviewer or even a fan went over the line or said something supremely stupid, and the “look” had come out of storage and let loose. Even Till, who normally stood down for no one, would back up several feet when “The Frau” showed up.

Richard started laughing, holding his sides. “Oh shit, Chris, stop it or I’m going to pee myself laughing. _Stop it!_ ”

Schneider dissolved into giggles himself, saying, “I thought you were house-broken Reesh. Don’t tell me I’m going to have to put newspapers all over the house till you get the hang of pawing on the door to be let out.”

Richard raised one dark, elegant eyebrow as he grasped his sweetheart’s wrist and pulled him close. With their noses almost touching, Schneider found himself mesmerized by Richard’s indigo-cobalt blue eyes, ringed with a hint of black eyeliner to bring them out. He blinked, slowly, unconsciously biting his lip at the heated glitter in those beloved eyes, the warm scent of whatever cologne Richard had used, and the renewed flush of deep affection that rushed through his veins. His mate brushed his lips with a quick kiss and murmured, “Woof, woof, baby.”

“If you don’t stop that we’ll never get where we need to be going,” Schneider sighed against Richard’s lips.

“Damn. And I thought you dressed up just for little old me.”

“You’re a prick-tease, Kruspe.”

“Oh, and you’re _not_ , Christoph Schneider? Showing off those long legs every chance you get, giving me all kinds of sneaky, smutty looks when you’re supposed to be drumming, walking past me backstage all naked and wet?” Richard replied, tangling his fingers with Schneider’s. The drummer sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the other man’s shoulder. “I wish we could stay in. I’m not quite comfortable with us being...well, you know. I shouldn’t give a shit but I do.”

Richard hugged his love gently, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “No one at the party is going to open their mouth about us and you know that. If they do, Paul and Till are going to be there to crack heads if need be. But if you start to get too uncomfortable, we’ll come back. Okay?”

Schneider nodded, raising his head up to capture Richard’s lips in a deep, deep kiss. When he pulled away, he thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand and said, “Crap. Eyeliner. You think I should?”

Without a word, Richard stepped back to the dresser and plucked his black eyeliner pencil from among the clutter. Gesturing for Schneider to look upward, he carefully applied the liner in a slightly thicker line than he had done on his own eyes, using the edge of his pinky finger to smudge the lines ever so slightly. When he was finished, he led Schneider over to the mirror to show off his work. Standing together, they made a striking couple, and Richard felt as if his heart was going to explode with pride and joy. Without the eyeliner, Schneider was good looking but with his striking eyes lined with smudgy black liner, he was stunning. Add to that his unconscious ability to flirt like a courtesan, his self-deprecating but sharp humor, and a figure that balanced raw masculinity with more than a touch of femininity, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Richard began to speak, only to be interrupted by the impatient chirp of his watch’s alarm. With a sigh, he let Schneider go, saying, “Come on Cinderella, the pumpkin coach is here.”

“I don’t have any glass slippers to loose when I go running away from the ball at midnight,” Schneider replied, taking his cell phone from its charging base in the wall and stowing it safely away in his pants pockets along with the few other bits and bobs he carried with him. He shot Richard another amused glance as they left their hotel room, the gaze promising quite an interesting evening yet to come.

:::::

The industry party, put on by Rammstein’s record label along with a couple other record labels that catered to bands like them was in full swing when Richard and Schneider arrived. As they stepped out of the limousine and proceeded up the short flight of marble stairs, Richard felt Schneider freeze in place for a second before he got himself in hand and pasted a frozen half-smile on his face. Murmuring a thank you to the doorman, he took Schneider’s arm and carefully escorted him inside the huge, elaborately decorated room. “Remember what I said, love. If this makes you nervous we’ll leave,” he said softly.

Schneider nodded, pulling Richard’s arm closer to his side. “These things used to be bloody annoying. Now they’re bloody annoying _and_ boring.” Richard could tell by the sharp tone that colored his mate’s voice that he was horribly nervous but hiding it well. Even in this day and age there were still people who took more than a little offense to a pair of gay---or in their case, bisexual---men, even in America, the supposed “land of the free.” Germany was slightly better, but only just.

“Head’s up, our fearless leader and his second in command are on their way to rescue us,” Richard said, moving them to the side of the room and out of the way of traffic. Striding across the room like a king reviewing his subjects was Till, intimidating yet handsome in a black suit, snow-white shirt and his tie undone, his blue-black hair gleaming in the rosy light coming from the chandeliers high above. Paul was close behind him in his own suit of black with a white shirt and tie undone, his silver earrings a swoosh of light against his late-summer tan and close-cropped, dark brown hair. Till stopped a few feet away from the couple for Paul to catch up, then said, “You two _look_ like Richard and Schneider from Rammstein but you’re too neat and clean to be them. You’re pod people, I knew it!”

Paul wasted no time teasing his long-time friends and band mates. He ducked around Till to grab first Schneider, then Richard, into hugs that fairly cracked their ribs. He stood aside for Till to do the same and once they had finished their greetings, said, “Nah, if they were pod people we’d be stumbling around going “ _Braiiiins...”_ by now.”

“That’s zombies, Landers,” Schneider mock-growled, playfully swatting Paul on the shoulder. “It’s good to see friendly faces. How are you doing?”

“Not bad,” Paul said, leading the men across the room, ignoring the conversations that stuttered into silence as they passed, the admiring, covetous of both men and women in their fashionable best. There were a few raised eyebrows at the handsome couple that followed along beside Till; Paul had heard a few nasty comments when he had been in the men’s room earlier but had kept his mouth shut, not wanting their singer to hunt down the offender and drown him in the nearest toilet. They were all older now, more in control of their tempers but when it came to people he loved, Till could be... _unreasonable_ at times.

There had been a reporter covering the release of Till’s side project, Lindemann, who had jokingly referred to Richard and Schneider as “fashionably pretty ass pirates,” among a few other crude comments. The reporter had been ejected from the interview by Till himself, who picked the man up by the collar of his jacket and half-carried him out of the room. There had been words exchanged, with Till winning the argument simply by leaning over the smaller man and growling, “One more word, you useless sack of shit, and I’ll have your head over my front door. Legally or otherwise...if I must.” The reporter had taken to his heels, convinced that he was going to be slaughtered by Till and served up to his dinner guests on a silver platter. The review had been glowing, almost groveling, in its tone; when asked what he had said to prompt the reporter to suddenly change his tone, Till had only quirked his double-pierced eyebrow and said, “I wasn’t _that_ mean to him.”

By the time the four men reached their reserved table, Schneider was beginning to relax somewhat, his happiness at seeing his friends overwhelming some of his nervousness. As they took their seats, Richard said, “Too bad Flake and Ollie couldn’t make it. I haven’t had a chance to talk to either of them in a couple of weeks. I wanted to tell Flake how much I liked his book and ask Ollie if he was going to do any snowboarding in the States any time soon, we were wanting to tag along.”

Till’s ears perked up when he heard Richard say “we,” and saw the slight tilt of his head to indicate Schneider. He’d spent some time talking to both men separately when they’d begun to realize their mutual attraction and had been more than a little worried that the relationship would implode before it had a chance to even begin. Richard, always the most flamboyant person on the planet, could be more than a little stressful on the nerves, and Schneider in turn, could become a nervous ball of hyperactivity. They were both perfectionists, both workaholics, a combination that was more volatile than a jar of nitroglycerin but somehow, it worked. Schneider tempered Richard’s sometime-spastic flights of fancy, while Richard brought out Schneider’s lively, impish side that could rival Paul’s at times. Till caught Richard’s eye and winked, getting a wink in return. “Ollie’s in the middle of a family trip and Flake’s got the flu. I’ll be talking to Flake probably tomorrow, I’ll let him know you were thinking of him,” Till said.

As the evening passed, the four Rammsteiners rubbed elbows, greeted old friends, met new ones and between Paul and Till, sneakily introduced Richard and Schneider as a couple. The people who knew the band well smiled happily as the two lovebirds, now oblivious to the crowd around them, strolled hand-in-hand around the room and out to one of the three balconies to enjoy the late Summertime evening. Paul was sitting with a sound engineer that he’d known for years and her husband when the woman said, “They make a striking couple, don’t they? I don’t suppose you had anything to do with it, Paul?”

Paul threw up his hands and declared his innocence. “Me? Nope, I kept my nose out of that, Fiona. Unlike you and Xander there. I didn’t think you were ever going to forgive me for blurting out in front of everyone at that party how much you fancied him. I learned my lesson!”

The woman laughed and tapped Paul on the head with a pen she had been writing with. “I forgave you after the second date. I invited you to the wedding, after all!”

Till, in the meantime, was watching Schneider and Richard talking to a reporter that the band had dealt with over the years, hiding his smile as Richard slid his arm around the drummer and hugged him, then pushed him gently away to show off what he was wearing. Schneider was smiling shyly, a blush tinging his cheekbones as he spoke to the reporter, his long fingers wrapped with Richard’s. He’d seen his friends go through disastrous relationships that had brought them low and had wondered if they’d ever be happy. He’d never believed in wishing on stars, but one night Till had forgotten himself and asked a bright star that caught his eye to please give them some kind of happiness before they were too old to enjoy it. And here they were, two of his oldest friends, thoroughly besotted with each other on their first “official” date as a couple. If they’d been his own sons, Till couldn’t have been prouder of them.

Richard hadn’t been ignorant of Till and Paul’s subtle observations of them. He found it humorous and sweet at the same time, and hoped that Schneider felt the same way. They were out on the third of the three balconies, sitting near a gigantic rose tree, when Schneider leaned over and said softly, “D’you get the feeling we have a couple chaperones hiding just out of sight to make sure we behave ourselves?”

“Ya think?” Richard snort-laughed, reaching up to one of the scarlet blooms to pluck a few petals and toss them into Schneider’s hair. He laughed and shook them out of his soft locks and threw them at Richard, who caught one of them and squished it between his fingers to bring out the sweet, heavy scent. “They’d never admit it, you know. It’s kinda cute.”

The two men sat quietly in the warm, humid evening, their jackets discarded on the bench next to them and their shirt sleeves rolled up above their elbows, listening to the party noise coming from inside the ballroom and enjoying their private time together. Schneider scooted closer to Richard and brushed a kiss over his ear. “You look wonderful tonight,” he murmured, taking Richard’s hand in his and rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

“Thank you sweetheart,” Richard replied, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder and sighing happily. He’d been nervous himself with the prospect of being seen at a fancy party with Schneider for the first time but since nothing had happened, he’d finally relaxed and enjoyed himself. The pair sat in the rose-scented quiet for a bit longer, then Schneider complained that the stone bench was beginning to flatten his behind more than it already was.

“You do not have a flat butt,” Richard said softly, handing Schneider his jacket.

“Sure I do. It started out normal and round but all these years of sitting behind the drums has flattened it out.”

Richard choked back a laugh as a woman walked by them, her air of disapproval as tangible as the spicy fragrance of the roses. As she went by, he flipped her the bird while Schneider glared daggers at her back. “Bloody bitch,” he growled, turning his back when the woman spun around to see who had spoken. With an aggrieved ‘huff’ she continued on her way, tottering on high heels that a sober woman would have had trouble maneuvering in. Schneider’s eyebrows went up as he mentally calculated how many feet further the woman would make it before she wiped out and sure enough, just as she went into the ballroom, her feet flew out from under her, sending her flying into the room with a squeal. Both men hid their laughter behind their hands, trying to be as quiet as they could as not to incur any more of the matron’s ire.

“And I repeat, you do not have a flat butt,” Richard finally said, leaning over to (supposedly) brush any dirt off of Schneider’s behind. He gave it a quick squeeze, making his partner jump and squeak, and continued, “I’ll just have to inspect it myself when we get back to the hotel, right?”

Schneider’s blush could have lit paper on fire, he was so red. “Damn it Reesh, you’re going to get us in trouble!”

“Who, me?” Richard purred in reply. He pushed the drummer into a patch of darkness between one of the rose trees and the side of the building, pressing their bodies together and melting into the dark. He caught Schneider’s lips in a tight, hot kiss, sliding his fingers up around his back and digging them into his waistline. He knew Schneider wasn’t exactly a stranger to making out in public but considering how nervous he’d been earlier, Richard had chosen to ambush him as close to a private spot as he could find. Deepening the kiss, he felt his mate’s body become pliant and soft in his arms, strong drummer’s fingers finding their own spots to caress and tease on his back and neck.

“You’re concentrated sin, d’ya know that?” Schneider murmured against Richard’s lips.

“Never been called that before but if the shoe fits, why not?” the other man replied, nipping delicately at the drummer’s lower lip. “I’ve been called worse.”

The lovers stayed in the darkness for a bit longer, sharing soft kisses, murmured words and gentle caresses. With a sigh of resignation, Schneider pulled away from Richard, saying, “We’d better get back in there before Paul sends a search and rescue party after us named Till.” Richard snort-laughed and peered around the rose tree before leading his lover out from their hiding place. As they re-entered the ballroom, Paul caught up to them and said, “Five more minutes and I was going to come looking for you two. C’mon, there’s a couple people you want you to meet.”

The party had diminished somewhat by this point, leaving more room for those party-goers left to move about more easily. The three men stopped long enough to gather up glasses of champagne before continuing their trip across the room. Richard had to halt their progress once when Schneider spotted a nearby table full of various types of desserts and had to detour so he could round up a small plateful. They continued onward, sharing the petit-fours among each other and at last came to a table set into an alcove. Till was already there, talking quietly with a group of people that neither Richard nor Schneider recognized. Paul stopped next to the singer, tapped him gently on the shoulder and said, “I found ‘em.”

Till turned in his seat and smiled gently at his friends, gesturing for them to sit down with him. “Richard, Schneider, this is Shane Tulliner. He’s our new representative at Pilgrim; I’ve known him for a couple of years.” A man about Paul’s age stood up from his seat on Till’s right and held his hand out, saying, “I’m glad to meet you both. It’s a privilege to get to work with Rammstein. I thought it would be a lot less formal if I managed to catch you six here and not back in Berlin. I’m over here to meet up with some old friends for a wedding, so I thought why not combine two trips into one? Please, sit down. I promise I won’t talk business too much, I don’t want to ruin anyone’s evening.”

For a split second, Richard considered sitting across the table from the rest of the group, leaving Schneider between Till and Paul, when he moved into the spot Richard was considering, surreptuously gesturing for Richard to take his seat. Giving Paul a look of thanks, he slid into the chair next to Schneider, quickly taking his hand and squeezing it. Once they were settled, Shane kept his promise and only gave them a quick overview of what his job was going to entail, what he had done previously and what he’d hoped to do. Once they were through with that, one of Shane’s companions tapped his arm and said, “I need to get going. The groom won’t be happy if his husband-to-be doesn’t show up for the wedding no matter who he was out to dinner with the night before. Don’t think Gabriel will take a note signed by Till, saying it was all his fault I got in at the crack of dawn.”

Till laughed and stood up to give the tall, blonde-haired man a hug and a congratulatory handshake, then stood aside so Shane could do the same. Richard sighed at the happiness the soon to be newly-wed exuded and for more than a moment, felt green with jealousy. His own marriage hadn’t worked out and he’d sworn at that time never to marry again. But with Schneider sitting beside him, sharing his life, his heart and his life, he was starting to think otherwise. Especially when he knew that Schneider had mentioned once that he wouldn’t mind getting married someday, then had dropped the subject when Richard had growled at him that a piece of paper meant nothing, it was the couple felt for one another.

“What’s the matter?” Schneider whispered, sensing that Richard was bothered by something.

“Ah, nothing. A bit tired but nothing to worry about,” Richard replied, reaching for Schneider’s hand again. His lover frowned and said, “Bullshit. Either tell me or I’ll kick you out of bed for a week.”

“It’s nothing, sweetheart, I promise. I’m just a bit tired from the time changes between Berlin and New York, that’s all,” Richard sighed, finishing off his champagne. Schneider dug his thumbnail into the side of Richard’s hand, angrily, and snapped, “You promised me that whatever bothered you we’d talk about and vice versa. Shut me out and...”

“ _Christoph_ , we’ll talk about this _later_ ,” Richard hissed, discreetly trying to pull his hand free and giving up when he realized that Till and Paul were giving them both the evil eye. He stopped, glared back at his friends and resigned himself to sleeping on the couch for a week.

As the party wound to a close, Richard excused himself to head for the men’s room, leaving Schneider to talk with Till and Paul, hoping his lover would settle down and be calm enough for him to explain why he’d become sullen so quickly after a night that had been so wonderful. He was making his way back to the ballroom when a young man stopped him, saying, “Are you Richard Kruspe from Rammstein?”

Torn between wanting to deny who he was and the ingrained need to be nice to people, Richard chose to be polite. He smiled and said, “You’re right. What can I do for you?”

“I want to thank you and Schneider for...well, for finally coming out. I’ve been a fan of Rammstein since the band broke here in the US, and I met my boyfriend on the last tour you guys did here in the States. He’d brought his boyfriend to the show and they broke up there; I was sitting behind them and...well, it went from friends to us getting together. We’ve been together seven years tonight and when I heard down the grapevine that you two were together, I was so happy for both of you. So...thanks.”

Richard blinked, blinked again and held out his hand. “Congratulations!” he said, shaking the young man’s slightly-shaking hand. “Here’s to happiness always, yes?”

The young man smiled, his bright smile lighting up his hazel eyes and making him look even younger. “Thank you! Can I ask you a question, though?”

 “Fire away.”

 “Are you and Schneider happy? I mean, there’s only been a couple pictures around and you two always look so happy but...oh God, I’m babbling and sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong. Take it from me, okay? If you love him, let him know. It took me a year to get up the nerve to ask my boyfriend out and it’s taken me this long to decide that I want to marry him even though it’s just a piece of paper, right? Don’t wait forever to do it because if you do, you’ll regret it.”

 In the past, Richard would have either brushed the question aside, made up something untrue on the spot or made light of the question. Without thinking, he said, “I haven’t been happier and I know Schneider is too. And you’ve just reminded me that I need to go tell him that.” Turning on his heel, Richard half-jogged back to the ballroom, making a beeline for Schneider, who was standing in the doorway. Without stopping, Richard swept his love into his arms, spun him halfway around and planted a big, showy kiss on his soft lips. Schneider made a burbling noise, grabbing the back of Richard’s jacket to keep his balance and hung on. When they parted, he stared at Richard as if he’d lost his mind and said, “What in the world, Reesh? You trying to talk me out of sleeping on the couch? Because I’m still mad at you.”

 “Do you know how happy you make me, Christoph? How much better of a person I am because of you being with me?” Richard asked, resting his forehead against Schneider’s. “How much of a fool I am because I haven’t asked you if you’ll consider taking me on as a life-long partner? That’s why I was grouchy earlier, that I was being an ass and not thinking of your happiness. Please?”

 Schneider froze in place, staring at Richard with wide, startled eyes that were watering ever so slightly. “But...Richard, you’re...we’ve only been together a little while, you said you never wanted to get married again, you said...” he babbled. “You know I’d be happy no matter what. I’m with you, that’s all that matters to me.”

 “I made a big mistake when you were talking about marriage and I snapped your head off,” Richard said, pulling up a chair and plopping down in it, taking Schneider with him to settle on his knee. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to wake up some morning when I’m old and decrepit, all alone and regretting that I was an idiot, a coward, and didn’t ask you to marry me. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

 “Getting married doesn’t guarantee that,” Schneider argued.

 “But I’ll have asked, right? And I mean it. I want to get married, I want to get old and creaky and grumpy with you. I want to wake up in the morning and know you’re there, know that if something happens to one of us, the other will be taken care of. We don’t have to get married right away, we can be engaged but please Schneider...please, Christoph, say you will,” Richard begged; he would have gotten down on one knee had his lap not been full of his lover.

 Schneider closed his eyes, one silver tear sliding down his pale skin. Richard caught it with a finger and licked the tear away, holding his breath and waiting. The drummer finally opened his shimmering blue eyes that gleamed with more than the glow from the overhead lights, and whispered, “I will.”

 “I don’t have a ring or anything like that just yet,” Richard said, leaning over to kiss Schneider’s trembling lips. “I’m sorry.”

 “I don’t need a ring,” Schneider murmured, leaning his head against Richard’s and sniffling back his tears. “I’m not really the traditional type, you know.”

 “But I am,” Richard purred against Schneider’s ear. “I know the perfect place that we can hit up tomorrow morning as soon as they open so you can pick out whatever ring you want.”

 “Picking out a ring?” Paul said from behind Schneider’s shoulder. “Wait a second. I leave you two alone ten seconds and you’re talking about… _oh_. Oh my God, you’re going to get married? When? Where?”

 “Shhh!” Schneider replied, grabbing Paul by the front of his shirt and jerking him down into a nearby chair. “Don’t tell the entire universe, Landers!”

 Paul’s astonished yelp had gotten Till’s attention and he hurried across the ballroom floor, grinning manically. He threw himself into a vacant chair and said softly, “Did I hear Paul correctly? Are you two getting married? When?”

 Both Richard and Schneider began to laugh at Till’s excited, almost childlike expression at the news. “Yes, we are, no, we don’t know when or where,” Schneider said, leaning over to accept Till and Paul’s congratulatory hugs. He let go of Richard long enough for him to do the same and caught him back up in his embrace, placing a kiss on his partner’s nose. “I don’t know what inspired my lovely peacock here to pop the question. If he hadn’t asked, I was going to in the next couple of months.”

 “It was only correct that I did the asking,” Richard snorted. “After all, the letter “K” comes before “S” in the alphabet. And I’m older than you.”

 “Not _that_ much older!” Schneider shot back. “Just because your birthday’s in December doesn’t give you a head start!”

 “Yes it does!”

 “No it doesn’t!”

 “Does too!”

 “Does not!”

 Till broke into their argument by plopping one hand over Richard’s mouth, while he grabbed Paul’s hand and shoved it against Schneider’s. “Christ on a lily pad, you two are the worst when it comes to arguing!”

 A muffled “Am not!” came from under Paul’s hand, causing the four men to break out in gales of laughter. Paul uncovered Schneider’s mouth and wiped his hand on his pants, saying “Eww. Drummer germs. I hope you’ve had all of your shots, little drummer boy!”

 Schneider stuck his tongue out at his bandmate as he reached over to push Till’s hand away from Richard’s face. “I’ll have you know I’m all vaccinated like a good little doggie. I hate being a pincushion but there you are.”

 As the evening drew to a close, it found Richard, Schneider, Paul and Till sitting on one of the balconies, watching the traffic pass by below them and finishing a final glass of wine. Schneider was leaning against Richard, curled up under his arm and his head resting on Richard’s shoulder. He was drowsing lightly, letting the conversation and noise flow over and around him as he replayed Richard’s proposal over in his head. Smiling to himself, Schneider opened his eyes and said, “I’m done. If we sit here much longer I’m gonna fall asleep and Reesh will have to carry me home.”

 “Won’t be the first time and won’t be the last,” Richard said, unwrapping himself from around Schneider and helping him to his feet. Till and Paul snort-laughed at Richard’s slightly exasperated but loving tone. Schneider whined out, “That’s not fair! Think of all the times I had to haul your ass home because you were too drunk to walk five feet on your own!”

 The loving argument carried on as the group left the ballroom, on their way to the elevators. “You already sound like an old married couple,” Paul teased.

 “What do you mean ‘already’? I’ve nagged him like this for years,” Schneider teased as the four men stepped into the elevator to head home. “I’ve got years of practice at this.”

::

Late in the night after they’d shed their clothes and made love, Richard settled down next to his husband-to-be, one arm wrapped around his slender waist and their fingers entwined. They lay in silence for a time, the only light in the room coming from a crack in the curtains that was letting the smallest sliver of moonlight into the room. At the edge of sleep, Richard turned and whispered in Schneider’s ear, “Do I get to carry you over the threshold?”

 “Nah. I wanna do it,” Schneider replied sleepily. “Or you could carry me over, then we could hop back out and I could carry you over the threshold.”

 More silence, then:

 “I don’t have to wear a dress, do I?”

 “Christoph Schneider, my heart, my soul, my very being, you can wear whatever you want.”

 “Do _you_ wanna wear one?”

 Richard stifled a laugh, knowing the sleepier Schneider got, the sillier he’d get. “Oh dear God _no_. You remember that red dress from the original “Du riechst so gut” video? Remember how awful I looked in it? We don’t want a repeat of that.”

 Schneider began to giggle, the happy noise gradually fading as he tipped over into dreamland. Richard kissed the top of his head and closed his eyes, his heart at peace at last.


End file.
